


Grown Up Equivalent of Best-Friend Necklaces

by goddammitamy



Category: Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cynic Ava, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Optimist Peter, Post-High School, Schmoop, Weddings, kind of college-y, they're in their early/mid-twenties idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddammitamy/pseuds/goddammitamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ava hates weddings. Peter loves them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grown Up Equivalent of Best-Friend Necklaces

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Emily Giffin quote,“The Maid of Honor – the unambiguous, grown-up equivalent of wearing Best Friend necklaces." And it's not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Ava hates weddings.

She hates everything about them. Well, everything except the open bar and seeing her friends genuinely happy. But after that, she hates everything about them.

She hates the grandeur; she hates the tawdry and extravagance of overspending money.  She hates that they're usually black-tie affairs that require five hundred “close friends” and a seating chart – that sounds like going to class, to be honest. And really, how is one close to five hundred people? A wedding that big is just a ploy to get gifts – has to be. Cynical, yes, but Ava is a budgeter and the type of person who invests and saves her money in a smart way. What’s the point in spending tons of money on one day, really? It just sounds really selfish.

Call her whatever – a cynic, an asshole, a bitch, whatever – Ava sees herself as a realist and she’s entitled to her own opinion. But, while she’s at it, she also dislikes the expected excitement that surrounds motherhood. Mostly because she doesn’t have any desire to have a baby anytime soon so, everyone, _please_ stop saying it’ll change when the baby is hers because this view might never change. _Ever._  

It’s probably because she’s so focused on her schoolwork – it takes a lot to be top of the class at Princeton – that she doesn’t have this passion for getting married and having babies. That’s gotta be it. Or it could be that with balancing school and saving the world on a regular basis, dating isn’t something she’s really got time for. Whatever it is, cynicism or poor time management or both, all she knows is that seems like forever away for her. Years. Light years, in fact.

She scoffs at her Facebook feed when people she went to high school with post engagement and wedding photos. She grumbles and pantomimes disgust when she sees couples and their public displays of affection. Hell, depending on her mood, seeing couples hold hands makes her want to roll her eyes. (Eating dinner with Sam and Peter at their apartment is sometimes a constant battle to control her urge to vomit because _dude, we’re eating. Stop eye-fucking your boyfriend while I’m in the room._ )  Sometimes, it’s exhausting, but she is genuinely happy for her friends and how they’ve found love or whatever. But that doesn’t mean she’s ever felt like something was missing from her own life enough where she should drop what she’s doing and go find the closest guy and strike up a conversation, hoping to god that it would lead to a date. Besides, she doesn’t exactly know what is or is not taboo when you’re supposed to be flirting. (Mary Jane laughs a lot and sounds incredibly vapid when she flirts with guys to get free drinks when they go out. No thank you. Not while holding onto a shred of dignity.)

But, anyways, back to the hating weddings part.

It’s mostly the expense that bothers her the most. If it’s true love, go to the court house and sign the papers and make it legal. That’s all getting married is, right? Skip the extravagance with its bells and whistles and go for the basics and for functionality. If the relationship is right and the love is real and “true,” shouldn’t it be a happy occasion either way? And Ava wants her friends to be happy, she really does. She just doesn’t understand why it should cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. But really, her friend’s happiness means the world to her.

Which is why she sucks it up and goes to the stupid things. Why, when she sees Harry and Mary Jane walking across the quad hand in hand with MJ’s left hand free and waving about _oh, so perfectly,_ so from about the length of a football field away Ava could see the sparkle on her finger; (then again, he’s Harry Osborn, so even if she wasn’t purposefully being a stupid, perfect model with her stupid, perfect lawyer-to-be/heir to a company boyfriend, the diamond on her finger _has_ to be _huge_ ), why she knows what’s coming before they even say anything.

They approach her and smile and Ava realizes that that, in fact, _isn’t_ a trick of light and _yes_ , there’s a huge rock on her best friend’s finger and she groans and says, “Goddammit.”

“Really?” Mary Jane says with a pout. “I was going for _yay, congratulations!_ Or something like that.”

“No, you’re right. Congratulations! I’m happy for you!” Ava forces what she hopes to look like a genuine smile. Clearly, it’s not that convincing, because Harry and MJ look at each other, disappointed.

“Maybe we should call Sam and Peter again. They had a better reaction. Something more along the lines of what we were looking for,” Harry says with a small smile.

“Did they cause a scene?” Ava asks, thinking about how overexcited they can get. There was probably a lot of screaming and jumping around. Someone probably cried. Furniture was probably knocked over in excitement. It’s a wonder how MJ and Harry don’t know that any of them are superheroes in their spare time with how easily those two can knock shit over.

“As much of a scene as one can cause in their tiny apartment,” Mary Jane says with a nod. “I think they did get a noise complaint, but that’s not important. Do – do you want to-?” she offers Ava her hand, which, of course she does, it’s normal to inspect the ring when someone gets engaged, right?

“Oh, yeah!” Ava says, feeling a little more than foolish, before she takes Mary Jane’s perfectly manicured hand (probably just for moments like this, really) and looks at the ring on her finger. “Oh, wow, pretty.” And she hates that she sounds so unimpressed, because she really, really is. God, MJ could sell that thing and feed a small country if she really wanted to.

“It was my grandmother’s, and then it was my mother’s. Before she got sick, she and my dad were madly in love and my grandparent’s marriage before that lasted fifty years,” Harry smiles at Mary Jane, who blushes and smiles back. “Hopefully, it’ll work its magic on us.”

They smile at each other, almost like they’ve forgotten Ava is right in front of them. What, are they getting lost in each other’s eyes? Really? God. _Couples_. Ava fights back the urge to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

“Well,” Ava checks her watch and clears her throat. They blink back into the present and look back at her. “I have class in ten minutes and it’s across the quad so – “ she smiles at them. “Congrats again, guys.” She starts to leave, adjusting her bag on her shoulder as she goes.

“Wait! Wait!” Mary Jane calls after her and stops in front of her, blocking her way. Ava fights back the urge to growl. She’s going to be late to class. “You can text me your answer if you need to think about it, but um. How would you like to be my maid of honor? Peter’s going to be Harry’s best man, so, it’s only fitting that you – “

“So, I’m second pick?” Ava asks, arching a brow. Going to be late and now she’s been insulted. Not that she actually feels insulted. She just knows her friend will backpedal and watching her do that _might_ be worth being late to class. Mary Jane shakes her head.

“No, no! Of course not! I meant that as Peter is _Harry’s_ best friend and you’re _my_ best friend, so it seems fitting for you to be – you don’t have to if you don’t want to or anything. I just really – please say you’ll do it.”

Ava shifts foot to foot. Mary Jane looks like she’s about two seconds from whipping out her patented Mary Jane-Watson-Perfect-Puppy-Dog-Face that always works on Ava when she’s not getting her way. “MJ, I’m flattered and everything, but I don’t have time for this right now.”

“Huh?”

“I have class in seven minutes,” Ava checks her watch again. “And I’m really sorry, but I can’t plan wedding events for you either. I think I’d probably do a terrible job and you’d be upset that I ruined your special day and just. To spare you the headache, I decline, with apologies.”

“Well, actually, I’ve already thought of all of this, and you’d just be the maid of honor in title. Sam’s already started planning everything, like the bridal shower and the bachelorette party and he’s even offered to help me find a caterer – all you’d have to do is come dress shopping and to fittings and the events themselves. And answer my calls and keep me sane through all of it.” Mary Jane looks proud of herself at first but by the end of it, she’s got her hands clasped in front of her like she’s about to beg. “ _Please,_ Ava, _please._ I’ll fall to my knees if I have to.” She sticks out her bottom lip and looks absolutely the part of the sad puppy she’ll become if Ava keeps this up.

Goddammit, it’s the fucking puppy face. Damn Mary Jane Watson and her stupid, pretty green eyes. “Fine.” MJ squeals. “But. I get to go to class and then we can talk about this later tonight over drinks that will be _your_ treat, okay?” Mary Jane is nodding excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Harry’s smiling in relief next to her.

“I can do that!” Mary Jane says happily before she throws her arms around Ava. “Thank you so much, Ava! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Okay! I’m going to go to class now.”

“Okay!” MJ lets go of Ava and Ava checks her watch.

She can make it if she runs.

 

-

 

Six months later, Ava is there when Harry and Mary Jane get married. Right up front and center wearing shoes she can barely walk in and a dress that she’ll never wear again. She doesn’t cry, but she does get misty eyed – though she’ll deny it even with a gun to her head.

With as much as she can’t stand weddings, she’s glad she said yes to being Mary Jane’s maid of honor. No seat in the house could be as great as the place she has right behind the bride, holding her flowers and handing her a handkerchief so she doesn’t smudge her make up while she professes her undying love for Harry. Harry’s crying too, which makes her spot even better – holy shit, Peter is wiping his face too, oh this is _great_ – but she doesn’t have it in her to hold it against them, well. Harry at least. (As soon as the procession leaves and she and Peter link arms, she’s going to definitely whisper something about him crying.) The late night phone calls, the Bridezilla moments, the crying about flowers and worrying about cake and the cold feet make this moment worth it. Well, honestly, watching Harry’s face as Mary Jane started walking down the aisle on her dad’s arm made this all worth it.

They look genuinely happy, and that’s all that matters. Now, it’s time for the open bar and to dodge Mary Jane’s attempts to get her out onto the dance floor. (She’s crafty. She gets her out onto the floor a few times and they dance like they’re not in tuxes and fancy dresses and shoes that, honestly, should only be used as paperweights.) When Ava can pull herself away to get herself another drink, she leans against the bar while the bartender makes her a martini. She’s debating on whether or not she should just take the shoes off and leave them at her table when Peter and Sam wander over, fingers laced together, talking quietly amongst themselves. They order drinks and Peter puts a few dollars into the tip jar before Sam whispers something to him and Peter laughs.

“What?” Ava asks, knowing she’s probably going to regret it.

“Nothing, nothing,” Peter says. Sam laughs too.

“Oh my god, guys. What?” To hell with it. She takes her shoes off one at a time and bites back a happy moan that could only be described as a step away from being borderline pornographic because, damn, those shoes fucking _hurt_.

“You look like you’re having a good time,” Peter says with a grin.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance this much. Not even at prom,” Sam fights back a snicker.

The bartender hands Ava her martini, which she takes and downs the drink in almost one gulp. Sam and Peter stare at her.

“You know that’s not water, right?” Peter asks.

“You know how much I hate weddings,” she says.

“Could’ve fooled us with all the fun you’re having.” Sam says.

“It’s the alcohol, probably. Liquid courage, sort of thing,” Peter stage whispers. Sam nods.

“Peter, you want me to tell Sam how much you were crying earlier?” Ava asks, arching a brow. Peter shrugs.

“I like weddings,” he says simply. The bartender hands them their drinks and Sam snakes an arm around Peter’s waist.

“God. Why?” Ava asks.

“What’s not to like?” Sam asks. “It’s a celebration of love. If you hate weddings, you hate love.”

“She hates babies too,” Peter says. Sam looks at Ava like she’s grown a second head. How is this news? She thought she made her views on these things perfectly clear when they talked about them at one of Mary Jane’s many dress fittings.

“Why do you hate happy things?!” Sam asks, horrified. Ava rolls her eyes and walks back to her table. The boys follow her.

“They look happy, don’t they?” Peter asks as they near the table. Ava follows his gaze and sees MJ and Harry dancing to some schmoopy Sinatra song that’s just fast enough for them to do more than sway back and forth. 

“Yeah, they do.” Ava smiles and sits down, dropping her shoes to the empty chair beside her. “If you two make me do this again anytime soon, I will kill you both myself.”

“There’s an idea,” Sam says, “We could get married.” Peter hums in agreement and nods.

“Yeah, we could. Hey, Ava – “

“I’m serious, guys.”

“So’re we,” Sam says. He gasps excitedly, turning to Peter. “We could – “

“For the last time, we are not getting married on the moon.”

“Aww. Come on!”

Another slow song comes on after the Sinatra song – another schmoopy love song that she recognizes from back in high school – and Peter sets his drink down on the table next to Ava and puts Sam’s drink down too.

“Come on, Buckethead, let’s dance,” Peter says over Sam’s protests of getting his drink taken away.

“Really? To this?” Sam asks, making a face. 

“Come on – “ Peter pulls him towards the dance floor, leaving Ava alone. She rolls her eyes at the two of them.

Really, she knows she’s going to be back here within the next five years and it’s probably going to be their fault.

 

* * *

 

 Peter loves weddings.

He loves everything about them. He loves dressing up and celebrating with his friends, loves that they’re a celebration of love. He loves that he can share this special day with his friends and be a part of it. Weddings are beginnings – and Peter loves beginnings. They’re easier than goodbyes, that’s for damn sure. And happier than them, obviously. Weddings are a celebration of love, life, and the beginning of a new life together – people can’t be sad at weddings. And if they are, they’re partying wrong.

Peter would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about his wedding day before. He pictured a small ceremony in some church he probably remembered from TV and his bride was thin and blonde and all smiles and blushing cheeks and shy glances. He’d carry her out of the church and they’d be so happy about their lives beginning that they wouldn’t care about going somewhere on a Honeymoon, it’d just end up with them hanging around at home for a few days, cut off from the rest of the world.

But plans change, people change, and things get put into perspective after life gets in the way and now it looks like his daydreams of his wedding day have turned into the exact opposite of what they used to be. Call him a hopeless romantic, but ever since things started going well with Sam, now he just keeps seeing him standing where the blonde used to and god, that makes him pretty fucking happy too.

He knows it’s probably down to a matter of time for him and his friends to get married. He knows exactly who’s probably going to get married of his group first – Harry and Mary Jane seem pretty serious lately – to where he has to feign surprise when Harry walks into his apartment like he owns it one afternoon and slides a box across the coffee table to him. Peter looks up from his tablet and greets him with a nod.

“I did it. I went and got it sized and everything. It’s perfect,” Harry says happily, plopping on the couch across from Peter. Peter stares at the box and then looks up at Harry.

“Harry, I had no idea you felt this way,” Peter says. “But I’ll tell Sam about us tonight if you want me that badly.” Harry rolls his eyes and reaches for the box, but Peter beats him to it. He opens it and, call him a sucker, but he gasps. “Dude, she’s going to love this.”

“You think so?” Harry asks, sounding relieved. Peter nods.

“Harry, the diamond is about as big as her eye. I’m sure anyone would love getting this.” Harry leans forward and takes the box from Peter.

“Let me hang on to it before you start getting ideas, then.” He places the box in his inside jacket pocket and leans back on the couch.

“When are you going to do it?” Peter asks. “Have any big dinner planned or are you just going to surprise her or what?”

“I dunno. I want to take her to dinner, but she probably wants something low key. What do you think?” Peter shrugs.

“I’m not helping you come up with how to propose to your girlfriend, dude.” Harry sighs.

“You haven’t thought about it before?”

“About proposing to MJ?”

“No, just proposing in general.”

“I did once,” Peter says, “But now it’s kind of just, going with it. I mean, we bicker like kids still, so if we tried to get married any time soon, we’d end up divorced a week later.”

“Nah, I don’t believe that. You and Sam are great together.”

“But we’re talking about you and MJ. Stop changing the subject.” They laugh and Peter shrugs.

“However you choose to do it, Harry. I’m sure she’ll love it no matter what.”

They fall silent for a few moments, Peter soaking this all in; Harry and Mary Jane, his two best friends, getting married. There’s something about it that makes him just giddy. He can’t decide whether it’s the idea of the wedding itself or if it’s just Harry and MJ.

“You know, dude. If she says yes, I want you to be my best man.” Harry says, grinning at him. Peter grins back.

“Really? Yeah. I’ll do it.”

“Really?” Peter nods.

“I said yeah, didn’t I?”

They both stand up and hug because this is a happy moment and dammit Peter needs to hug somebody. They pull away right as the door to the apartment opens and Sam walks in.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks with an arched eyebrow. Harry steps away from Peter and shakes his head, walking over to Sam and standing in the entryway with him. Peter joins him and kisses Sam hello.

“Nah, man. Well, I am thinking about proposing to Mary Jane.” Peter winces. Sam’s eyes widen.

“Really??” he asks. Harry pulls the box back out of his pocket and hands it to Sam, who opens it and his mouth falls open in surprise. “Oh my god. This thing is fucking _huge_ , dude! Anyone would say yes to a ring like that.”

“That’s what I said,” Peter laughs. Sam looks up at Harry and wiggles his eyebrows.

“And I mean _anyone_ , Harry.” He winks. Harry reaches out and takes the box from Sam and places it back in his pocket.

“I’m right here, what’re you doing?” Peter asks. Sam shrugs his jacket off and hangs it up, laughing.

“I’m planning our future, Parker, what’s it look like I’m doing? See, if I marry Harry, then I can divorce him later and you and I can run away with half of his money.”

“Oooh, I like this plan.” Peter grins. “Or, we can put out a hit on him or something and then we can have _all_ of it.”

“Why are you plotting my murder in front of me? That’s just. Wrong.” Harry shakes his head at them as they grin at each other. His cellphone chirps from his back pocket and he checks it. “That’s MJ, asking what I’m doing for dinner. Should I do it tonight, you think?”

“You’d better do it within the next hour or so because there’s only so much distracting I can do to keep him from calling her and telling her before you get to propose,” Peter says, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist and taking his phone out of his hands before he can text anyone. Sam grumbles a _hey_ and tries to reach around Peter to get it.

“I was thinking about doing it tonight anyways. Why wait, you know? Besides, fair point.” Harry laughs as Sam tries to grab his phone back from Peter, who’s now holding it over Sam’s head. Sam’s muttering _we’re not fucking fifteen anymore, Parker, give me my damn phone_ and glaring at him. This is fun.

Harry turns towards the door. “I’ll text you and let you know how it goes. See you guys later.” And like that he’s gone, leaving Peter and Sam in their apartment alone. Peter arches a brow at Sam who just reaches into Peter’s back pocket and takes his phone and rushes to the couch.

“Oh, MJ texted you looking for Harry. Aww.” Peter walks over and grabs his own phone out of Sam’s hands and stacks Sam’s on top of his in his hands. “I _promise_ I won’t text her about it.” Peter isn’t convinced.

“Either I take your phone away or I find something else to occupy your time until he’s had enough time to actually do it.” They look at each other a moment before Peter tosses the phones onto the couch and pulls Sam towards their bedroom.

“What are you, my mother?” Sam asks, arching an eyebrow at him.

“God, I hope not,” Peter breathes. Sam makes a face.

“Oh, fucking gross, dude. Ew.” Peter pushes him back on the bed.

“Shut up,” he silences Sam with a kiss.

 

-

 

When they’re half-dozing after, curled against each other happy and spent, Sam fills the silence around them. “Harry and MJ are getting married, huh?” He rolls over onto his side facing Peter, who mirrors him.

“Looks like it.”

“Did you ever think they’d be the first of us to do it?” Peter exhales.

“Yeah. Of all of us, yeah. They’d be the ones to get married first.” He rolls over onto his back and looks up at the ceiling. “And even if they weren’t, they’d be the ones to have the best wedding out of all of us. They’d outdo any of the ones we’d have so, why get outshone, you know?” Sam nods in agreement before something in head clicks.

“Great.” He groans. “Since your aunt is probably going to be invited because she practically raised you _and_ Harry, there’s gonna be pressure for _us_ to get married.” He flops back onto his back almost comically, staring up at the ceiling. “Though, we could totally get married on the Moon.” Peter turns his head and looks at Sam. He doesn’t know which part of the statement to acknowledge first, the fact that Sam technically just _proposed_ or the no, no they can’t get married on the Moon, what, Sam, are you _crazy?!_

“I don’t even know where to begin with that statement,” Peter says truthfully. “But we can’t get married on the Moon.”

“Why not?” Sam sits up and rests back on his hand, looking down at Peter like Peter’s grown two heads, like, _why_ wouldn’t _we get married on the Moon, Peter? I lived in space once we’re getting married in the land of my people_. Peter rolls his eyes and pulls Sam in for another kiss because it’s the only way he can think of to get him to stop talking about getting married, never mind the Moon.

How did this end up being his life again?

(Harry and Mary Jane end up stopping by later that night to show off the ring. Peter and Sam react accordingly, screaming and jumping and flailing. Peter denies that he cries, but he definitely does. They raise a glass of wine in a toast and after the newly engaged couple leaves, hand in hand, happier than he’s ever seen them, Peter realizes that, yes, that is _definitely_ something he wants one day. But he doesn’t dare say anything out loud about it as he and Sam head to bed, because he’s _just now_ gotten him to shut up about the goddamn Moon.)

 

-

 

Six months later, Peter wakes up the day of the rehearsal dinner with a killer hangover. He’s not missing any teeth or looking at anything else _Hangover_ worthy, but he’s got a migraine and he feels nauseous and _shit_ , how much did they drink last night?

He sits up and, no, being vertical is not a good thing for him to attempt to do right now, and lies back down. Oh good god, he feels like he’s dying. He flops back down on the couch he’s sleeping on and turns his head to see Harry stumbling into the room, blinking and grimacing like he’s in pain.

“Dude,” Harry groans. “What the _fuck_ – “ He rubs his eyes.

“I don’t know. Is everyone here? Did anyone get married last night?” Peter wants to laugh at his own joke, but his voice sounds too loud right now.

“Can we turn the sun off for ten minutes?” one of Harry’s Harvard buddies asks from across the room.

Harry pulls his phone out of his pocket as he plops down in a recliner. “I drunk texted MJ last night. Oh great.” He drops his phone to his lap and rubs his eyes again, trying to shake his headache.

“They’re all good things – I remember that part,” Peter says back, digging into his jeans for his phone. There’s five texts from Sam, all of which are laughing at him. He groans. He’s never going to live this down, that’s for damn sure.

“God, why does everything hurt so much?” Harry whines. Another one of his Harvard friends tosses him a bottle of aspirin and it hits him in the stomach. He curls into himself and groans.

“Because you insisted we play bar golf, that’s why,” Peter says, responding back to Sam’s texts with only the word “Mercy?” and getting back a moment later, “not a chance, webhead.”

“Aren’t you supposed to talk me out of ideas like that being my Best Man?” Peter looks up from his Facebook feed on his phone, liking pictures from Mary Jane’s bachelorette party, saving a couple shots of Sam to his phone.

“I wasn’t aware that that’s what my job was supposed to be. I thought I was just supposed to get you to enjoy your last night of unmarried life before the dinner tonight, where I give a speech, and the whole day tomorrow, where I also give a speech.” Peter can hear the rattle of the aspirin bottle and then Harry tosses it to him. He catches it before it hits him in the nose. Bless his spidey-senses.

“I’m gonna take your speech privileges away if you keep talking,” Harvard friend number one says. Harvard friend number two seems to be the least hungover of the group and is attempting to take candid pictures of Harry to, presumably, send to MJ.

“What time is it?” Harry asks.

“Eleven forty-five,” Peter answers absently before his phone pings and he’s got another text from Sam. “Oh, MJ and them are just as hungover. We’re okay.”

“They were going to have a brunch thing this morning,” Harry says.

“Guess they aren’t now,” Harvard friend number two laughs.

They lay around the most of the day, gulping down water and slowly getting to where they can actually sit up. Peter finally gets Harry into the shower around two so he can go with MJ to pick her parents up from the airport. When they walk through the lobby of the hotel to meet her, their headaches dulled to a bearable fuzzy feeling, it makes Peter feel better knowing that the girls (and Sam) look like they feel just as bad as he and Harry do.

“When we go get my parents, can we _not_ tell them how hungover we are?” Mary Jane asks quietly. Harry kisses her cheek.

“Yes, dear.” She practically beams happily before they break into conversation about what they can kind of remember from the night before as they walk to the breezeway to meet the black car Harry called down for fifteen minutes ago. The rest of the wedding party says something about either a nap or checking out the pool – apparently the girls want to go tan or something. Ava walks off on the phone, pressing her finger into her other ear so she can hear while Sam and Peter smile at each other and pull off to a side of the lobby to be out of everyone’s way.

“Have fun last night, webhead?” Sam asks with a grin. Peter groans and winces.

“Don’t remind me, okay. I know. But at least I don’t have photographic evidence of how much fun I had so I can deny it,” he holds his phone up and shows Sam the pictures that are on Facebook. Sam whimpers and closes his eyes.

“I don’t ever want to be that drunk again,” Ava says when she walks back over to them, shoving her phone into her purse. “Also, Danny and Luke need a ride from the airport. Luke’s got someone he wants us to meet.” She makes a face thinking about it. “Also, I’m surprised at you, Parker. Of all of us to say there’s not photographic evidence of something, you’re the last person I expected not to take pictures of something.”

Sam laughs. Peter shrugs. Ava looks pretty damn proud of herself. But, just to make her upset again, Peter starts, “So, Ava, are you excited to give your speeches to the bride and groom tonight?” she glares at him.

“I fucking hate you,” she says.

“What?” Peter turns to Sam who’s laughing.

“She hasn’t finished her speech yet. Says every time she sits down to write it, she just ends up angrily stomping away from her computer because it sounds too sappy.”

“I hate weddings,” she says as they walk outside to hail a cab.

“All the reason for everyone you ever know to start getting married as soon as possible. Once tomorrow is over, the flood gates will have been opened and we’re all going to be married,” Sam reaches out and takes Peter’s hand and smiling at him as he says it. Peter smiles back happily.

He knows he wants to get married. He knows that Sam wouldn’t joke about it if he wasn’t ready either. Now it’s just a matter of time to see which one of them is actually going to ask the other first. They slide into the back of the cab, the three of them shoulder to shoulder. Sam pulls their hands into his lap.

If the drunken proposals Peter sent to Sam last night don’t count, Peter needs to actually sit down and plan out how he’s going to do this, because otherwise, a drunken promise is a promise and Peter _really_ doesn’t want to get married on the Moon.

 

 


End file.
